


Covered

by StarBucks



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Happy Ending, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicide Attempt, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-21 10:59:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1548239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarBucks/pseuds/StarBucks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Capture escaped convict and most wanted man in America. Check. Clean up the city. Check. Rebuild S.H.I.E.L.D. Check. Teach an old friend how to live again. Easier said than done. And probably not easily done either. PTSD is a serious hardship. But there isn't anything Steve wouldn't do for a friend. A story of finding ones self, recovery, and learning to smile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Hunt

The team was somewhere in the northwest of the United States in a thick forest of pine. They had clogged through many miles of crowded trees and shrubs. The wind whistled through the branches eerily, like a howl from a wounded animal. The group stopped about midday to rest and set up a temporary camp amidst the towering trees.

Steve started building a fire using twigs and dried moss he found hanging around. He flicked his lighter a few times until he saw smoke, then built the fire up slowly using bigger logs he broke off of branches he found lying around. Once the fire had grown enough in size, he sat back and stared at the tops of the trees and the slivers of sky you could see through them.

The avengers had split up into groups where the soldier had last been sighted. Several reports of gas station robberies by a man who matched his descriptions had found their way into Tony's repertoire of informational data banks. They followed his trails and came all the way to the northwest corner of the states. It had only been a week since Steve had last faced his old friend, and they were now running short on options. He had evaded them at every turn. Everytime they had gotten close enough to catch him, they received news of him just a couple states ahead. They already talked to a few of the gas station's employees and they had come up with blanks. Most of them said the same thing. Big scary guy dressed in black army-looking clothes barged in, took some water, some food, and left. A few of the braver ones pulled out a gun, but were immediately disarmed by the stranger and knocked unconscious. A few others had tried to run after him, but they said he completely disappeared after leaving. He only ransacked the stores that were close to areas of high density forests or mountains, never in the city, or even small towns. They were all at a dead end. Most of the team had split up and found motels to stay in until the next day, or went back home entirely. Only Steve, Natasha, and Tony stayed.

Tony was busy looking through his laptop for new evidence, or watching videos. Nobody knew, and nobody bothered asking if he was doing any real work, which was a little bothering to him because he was actually really doing work and staying focused this time and nobody was even noticing. It was times like these when he realized how immature he really was, and began to reevaluate his decisions to see if he should act a little more adult about situations like this. This answer was mostly the same every time.

_Nah._

Tony made a face at his screen, laughing silently at his own private jokes. He then got up and began walking around the small camp site occasionally touching some trees, and spinning around others. Steve and Natasha looked back at him doing his weird little dance with concern, but neither said anything except passing a silent _what the hell_ look to each other. Natasha shrugged and continued her survey of the trees while Tony sat back down with his computer.

There wasn't much for her to look at, considering. But it did make any sort of movement through the trees glaringly obvious, which made her job easier. No one told her this was her job, she just sort of did it anyway. It was essential to have a lookout for all missions, especially with someone as skilled as the assassin she fought a week earlier. She had very rarely seen someone so skilled in the art as he was. And that made her a little nervous, truth be told. She was still recovering from that shot to the shoulder. Even though she was pretty sure he didn't have any guns on him, she was still wary, and brought a few of her own in case. And then of course, there was the metal arm, which doesn't really need explaining. Human muscle versus cold steel didn't add up to a fair fight at all.

The day drug on until dusk had reached them. The lighting was slim and made everything look monotone, except for objects that you could see through the blinking lights on Tony's gadgets. Everything was silent and stilled, even the birds sang slowly through the last rays of sun.

Tony was immediately covered with a lunging body.

"What the heck Tasha!" he complained before hearing a few thwumps of something hitting the trees around them shut him up.

There was silence again, and you could hear ragged breathing. The black widow got up off of Stark and was plowed back by a dark form into the brush. Steve got up off his cover from the ground and ran after her. Tony looked around and saw small daggers implanted in all of the trees around him. He pulled his suitcase out, and suited up. He quickly checked his laptop again, grunting in affirmation, and blasted off through the trees in pursuit. He stopped short when he found the others facing off a man dressed in black.

Natasha was still pulling herself up off the ground after being tackled so violently. Steve and the winter soldier were circling around each other, the captain with regret in his eyes, and the soldier with malice in his. The soldier lunged forward punching Steve in the gut and threw his knee back up into the captain's face while he was bent over. Cap righted himself and threw a roundhouse kick, which the soldier blocked and flipped him over with. While Steve was on the ground, the black widow saw her opportunity and lunged for the soldier's back, pushing him forward with her kick. He twisted back around and cut off another heavy kick with a solid backhand that sent her flying into a tree. Tony dove into the soldier and flew him into a large tree, hearing the breath escaping from his opponent. Tony sent metal fist after fist into the soldier's face uninterrupted until he was kicked back. Stark slid a ways through the leaves, and came back running at the soldier. He jumped into the air using his thrusters and came down hard over the solder's head with a foot. Natasha and Steve recovered and came running after the fight. The team went full forward at the soldier and pushed him further back into their campsite.

Steve and Natasha faced off with the soldier and dodged his attacks when he pulled out another knife every time they disarmed him. At one point, all three members of the team managed to tackle him and take him to the ground. Tasha straddled his chest, while Tony and Steve held down his arms and legs as he struggled.

"Bucky stop! We're trying to help!" the captain ordered as he held his grip on his former friend.

"YA ne nuzhna vasha pomoshch', mudak! Graahh!" came the frustrated reply.

"What is he saying?" Steve fumed, "Speak English, I know you can!"

" _Pereyti trakhat' sebya!_ " the soldier spit in his face.

"You don't want to know, Steve," Tasha informed him, "he's just trying to avoid answering."

With a yell, the Soldier threw all three people off and took off running through the woods again, but he didn't get very far. Natasha slid underneath him and kicked his legs out. He fell hard on his side and rolled to his back and she jumped on top of him, pinning his legs and metal arm down. She pulled out one of her silenced pistols and pointed it at his sternum.

"Don't. Move." she warned him with a set jaw.

He glared at her as the other two avengers caught up to them. Before they reached him, he sent a fist straight for her gut and flipped her over. There was a silent sound of impact and Natasha pulled the trigger.

"What did I just say? Don't move."

The Soldier's angry face contorted and he reached out to punch again, and there was another impact. Each time he tried to move, another shot. Once. Twice. Three, four, and five times. He slammed his metal fist on the ground in pain, and knocked the gun out of her hands and made a run for it. He fell a few feet from where he started running, and didn't get back up. Steve and Tony caught up and saw the fallen soldier and the gun on the ground a few feet away from a worn looking Romanov.

"What-did you just shoot him Tasha?" Steve locked frightened eyes with Natasha' s cool green ones.

"No. That was one of my specialized stings. One of the few I managed to smuggle out while everyone was busy pointing guns at each other at the old headquarters. It's amazing what you can take when you're wearing a smile and a nice outfit." She smiled firmly, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"So, he's not hurt, is he?" Steve asked as he started walking towards his friend.

"Shouldn't be. These are high impact mini darts. Here."

She pulled out the magazine of the pistol and showed him the contents. There were small metallic balls, barely bigger than a small bead, all compartmentalized into three rows of the clip.

"Once the darts come in contact, they start to evaporate, releasing a toxin into the system. One one these has enough juice to knock out a three hundred pound person for up to six hours. There are seven of these in him right now."

She points over to the man lying face down on the ground.

"He should be out for a couple of- _oh shit_."

She jammed the clip back in the gun and aimed for the trees right where the soldier used to be. He was now zig-zagging through the trees, headed right for their camp. She let off a couple of rounds before she realized that he was too far out of range.

"Shit." She repeated and took off after him.

"A couple of what exactly, seconds?" Steve countered as he ran alongside her.

"Shut up."

The metallic smell of sweat and blood intermingling fought its way into their senses as they chased down the black clad figure. Tony flew up beside them and gave them and okay sign with his hand.

"Don't worry guys, I got this!" He yelled as he blasted off through the trees.

"What is he planning?" Muttered Natasha under her breath.

Back at the camp site the Soldier just ran through and was stopped short by a giant metal flying man. Stark hovered with his hands out in front of him, repulsurs glowing brightly in the dim forest like headlights.

"Hold up there mean swing. You're not going anywhere."

His careful eyes trained on every single exit point possible, but saw only one. The red haired assassin was approaching from the back right, and the man called Steve was coming from back left. They were forming a triangle around him. So he made his only possible move; he ran head first into the flying suit of armor. Lashing out with his bionic arm, he pulled a knife and went straight for the face mask. Before he even touched Tony though, he heard a "get down!" and saw everyone drop to the ground. A flash echoed through the trees, and everything lit on fire. The small team watched under ducked heads the barrage of electricity go from the small trees surrounding the camp, straight into the Winter Soldier. The electricity shut off and the soldier stopped seizing and hit the ground. Thin trails of smoke lazily lingered up from where the bolts struck, and there was a smell of burnt clothing.

"That should do it," Tony said getting back up and walking over to the man on the ground.

He was sprawled on his back completely knocked out. He was wearing a black stained hoody, his black cargo pants from a week earlier, and a nasty looking brown shirt with splotches of what looked like car oil on it.

"Are you guys trying to show off or something?" Steve said as he jogged over with his shield now in hand.

"Well if we are, I'm definitely winning."

"Don't push your luck Stark. I still have a few tricks up my sleeve." Natasha smirked and raised an eyebrow at him.

"Okay, well, I was the one who got him so I should at least-"

"Shut up Tony." She looked more serious now as she noticed Steve crouching over his friend.

Steve gingerly reached out to check his friends pulse, and pulled back after seeing it was fine. He sat down fully on the damp ground, and worked the dirty, burnt, and torn sweater off his friend's shoulders, and threw it to the side. There were small burn marks, like spots, dotted along his upper arm, and a couple on his chest, but the majority of the electrical charges looked like they hit his left arm. It was covered in black, partially from the electricity, and partially from the hoody being incinerated. The Captain frowned and stood up.

"He's fine. For now. But I have a feeling he'll be back up soon, we need to get him home."

Steve bent down and put an arms under Barnes' legs and behind his neck. He lifted him up wedding style, while Tony took off his suit and Natasha packed up their gear into hiking backpacks.

"I'll call our ride." Tony said before pulling on his pack, and picking up his suit-in-a-suitcase. They started their trek back the way they came through the woods.


	2. What Happened at the Museum

_One Week Earlier_

* * *

 

Pepper had had enough paperwork for one day, so reclining in the big sofa at the top of the tower with a glass or two was the least distressing thing she could think of. She let a long relaxed sigh escape her lips and leaned her head back to rest on the rim of the couch. Just as she was about to close her eyes, Tony Stark flew into the room out the elevator and jumped on the seat beside her.

"There goes my relaxation," she intoned.

"Oh, hey, don't be like that I actually have good news."

"What's the bad news then?" she inquired, bringing her head back up and looking at him.

"I never said there was bad news."

"I didn't have to guess very hard to know that Tony."

"Well..."

"Come on spit it out. I want to go back to de-stressing. Okay, go."

"Hmm. Ah. Well. The team-"

"The team? That's what you guys are calling yourselves?"

"Hey don't interrupt its my turn, and yes, if your highness would let me continue-"

"Whatever."

"So, like I was saying, the team, has comes to a decision, of sorts, and I thought, this being a loving and open relationship and all, that you might want to know what that is."

"You're damn right I do."

"How much have you had tonight?"

"Enough."

"Right...starting to sound like me... don't do that. Anyway. We've decided to go after sergeant Barnes." he ended quickly, tensing up for a surprised slap he was sure to get.

"Who?"

"Wait, you don't know?"

"No, I obviously don't know, Tony. I'm not always up to date with your superspy shenanigans."

"But I thought...?"

"It's more than just checking up on you. It's harder after well, you know."

"Mmm. Coulson."

"Damnit. I'm really drunk, Tony, we shouldn't be having conversation right now."

"Listen, just listen. I know, and in a minute and gonna carry you to the room, and your gonna have a nice long bath and go to bed but for right now, I really need to talk to you." He gave her those puppy dog eyes she couldn't resist and she nodded.

"Thank you honey, just hear me out for a sec."

"Okay, okay, just tell me already."

Tony stared hard at Pepper, and his eyebrows pulled together. He started to say something and opened his mouth, but closed it again.

"Y'know, you're completely right. I need a shower and you need a good book and sleep." He decided as he jumped up from the couch and pulled her up by her hands.

"Come on, let's get you cozy."

"Fine, whatever Tony. I just don't know why you didn't talk to me about this earlier."

"You were in a meeting, or something or other... Doesn't matter, I'll tell you tomorrow, I promise. I need to do a little research still. Love you."

He gave her a quick peck on the cheek, and shut the door to their bedroom. The hallway seemed longer on his way back from the room, and the plush leather couches didn't hold any respite from the ache beginning to form in the back of his head from lack of sleep and worry, among other things. He stood for a minute staring at a wall, and then glanced down to see the wine bottle. He swiped it and wondered over to his mini bar and plopped down in the first stool his legs found while running a hand through his already unkempt hair. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to block out all thoughts of the meeting and the past events.

Tried to forget for just a moment about New York. About Killian and his red hot cronies. And what happened to Pepper. God, she didn't deserve any of this, why did it have to be her? He was glad, too, that he never told S.H.I.E.L.D. about her new anomaly, they probably would've scooped her up first chance and who the he'll knows what would've happened to her.

The thought passed his mind whether or not to tell her about some of the stuff he found anyway. He wasn't even sure if it meant anything, but all the news articles hid something disturbing. Either he was on to something interesting, or he was so paranoid that he was making something out of nothing. Who was he kidding?

The shit was hitting the fan at an ever increasing rate. Should he tell Fury? Is he even going to want to know? Questions swirled in his head, clouding over the buzz he was getting from drinking, and resulting in a full blown migraine.

The fact of the matter was that the avengers weren't the avengers so much as they were the randomly assembled sets of people. Steve and Natasha had been working together ever since New York. Bruce had been traveling the country doing research and following odd leads. He never said what on, just that he had to find information. Selvig and Thor's girlfriend had some misadventures of their own. That was after the giant scary black ship crashed in London. When S.H.I.E.L.D. was still operating, they cleaned up the mess. God knows where all that alien scrap metal was now. Pepper had been keeping him busy with paperwork and bureaucracy, even though he had new plans in the works. Mainly plans for suits. And Barton? No clue. Nobody had seen him since before or after the meeting earlier today. And Tasha kept completely silent when asked. Nobody bothered asking her after she got all quiet.

The team was partial, and honestly, it wasn't good for anyone. With the recent events, Tony was no longer feeling safe in his own skin, so he did the only thing he could think of to make him feel safe: he built suits.

He knocked back the last of his drink, went to the elevator, and jammed buttons near the bottom with his thumb until he hit the right one and the doors slid shut. The ride was short, and the doors opened almost as soon as they closed.

It wasn't that he was ignoring Pepper's wishes, it was different now that they'd been attacked so many times. The suits he made before the Killian problem were an extreme hobby. But not these. These new ones, they were... purposeful. If ever they were attacked again, he would have a few select suits with the right abilities for the attack. There was a prototype of a space suit. There were several of them that used the light reflective panels from the old helicarrier, except he modified them to switch on at a moment's notice. He could fly anywhere, and no one would ever see him. In total, there were ten suits. Tony couldn't bring himself to make any more than that.

He waltzed through the doors into the lab, crossing over to a work bench, and started rummaging through his tools. He set to work slowly rebuilding an intricate price of metal work and electrical wiring. The smell of warm steel and rubber started wafting through the air.

He couldn't quit thinking about the meeting earlier. They had decided on going after sergeant Barnes, but there wasn't any sort of plan. Just a manhunt. From what he'd heard about him, he was a regular soldier back in the second world war, actually met his dad. Then, after Steve formed his little troupe of war mongers, a mission went wrong and ended with a supposedly very dead sergeant Barnes at the bottom of a very large icy canyon. The reports said a search party had been sent out to find a body, but they found a huge icy river at the bottom had swept away any evidence of humans, and they were under constant fire from a few stragglers still hiding away in the mountains. Apparently he had no family to go back to, so the infamous KIA letter was given directly to Steve. Harsh. Sad that the kid had been through so much already, and to have his friend come back from the grave as an assassin for the KGB and HYDRA? It's definitely a lot to think on...

Tony didn't get any sleep that night. Or the next.

* * *

The museum smelled musty. It smelled like years of old artifacts simmering on hot summer days, being touched, handled, and covered up again, all with a thick coat of dust. Sunlight delicately filtered through dim windows covered in white plastic blinds. The LED lights had all been shut off, and the last of the customers were filing out for the day with screaming children and drinks in hand.

"Don't forget next week's planetarium special showing of Saturn. Tickets are five dollars. We are now closing. Thank you." A bored sounding woman said before shutting off the speaker system.

The silence grew until it stood still. A musty clock in an antique casing stood stoically at the end of a long cream colored hallway, still ticking away even after years of disuse. Knights covered in pallid armor lined the hallway, standing on blocks of polished wood. They no longer had their shiny luster, but still looked as regal as in the storybooks. The walls were dressed in tattered old strips of wallpaper hailing colors of leafy green and light pink in a crisscross pattern.

Heavy footsteps made their way down the hallway, pausing slightly to listen. There was a security guard outside.

_Older. Lacking in muscular strength. Continues in a loop around the building every two hours. Two windows, one side door that leads into the offices, more exit points in the next room. Assessment; not a threat. Action; hide._

A lean figure shadowed itself into a dark corner near a suit of armour, and waited. The elderly security guard turned and came down the hallway, stopping in the middle to check his watch, then continued until he was out of sight. The figure slipped back out from behind the armour, and made it a point of stepping more quietly through the museum.

He rounded a corner, and saw a grand arch entryway, all decorated with red white and blue ribbons and banners. Large cardboard posters with a heroic looking Captain America ordained the walls, and he caught sight of a light blue glow coming from the next exhibit room. Upon entering, he could see a classic old motorcycle replica on display, and a plaque under its front tire explaining it's service and who rode upon it. A video memorial to Captain Steve Rogers played on a loop, and so he sat down on the floor and watched it play over and over again.

After the twelfth or so time, he stood up again and wandered over to the memorial that he had been avoiding. He only got a brief look at the picture of the man he was supposed to be before he was pushed along with the mid afternoon crowds. But now, he had all the time he needed, and he poured over every word, and every syllable, until the thing was memorized. And when he had it down, he would walk away again only to walk right back, for fear of forgetting. He looked at the picture again.

 _Wrong hair. Wrong clothes. Wrong expression. Wrong posture. But... right eyes_.

It was strange seeing a man who looked like him, but not at all like him, but had his eyes. If not for those eyes, he would have left this place hours ago, and been on his way. He was this person. Maybe not now, but he used to be this man.

A silent sound caught his attention, and he snapped out of his zone. It was the approaching footsteps of someone who was still in the building. And very close.

 _At least one fifty. Six feet. Very strong. Trained to be light on their feet. Three exit points, two near the entrance, and one through the skylight. Assessment; possible threat. Action; blend in_.

"Hey, oh, I didn't think anyone was still here. The museum closed an hour ago...hey you okay?"

The soldier had pulled his ball cap down over his face to hide it, and shoved his arms into the sweater pockets. Upon hearing the voice, he made his first tactical mistake; he looked up. It was the target. It was the mission.

_Why was the mission here? Was he followed? Does he recognize him? Will he take him back to his captors? No. keep looking down, the target wont notice._

He ducked his head again and said in a gruff voice, "Musta lost track of time."

"Oh? Well. Looks like we've both been caught then." Steve offered a small smile to the mysterious man covering his face.

The soldier glanced upwards again, fear flashing in his eyes.

 _I've been discovered. Assessment; threat. Action; leave._ He began to back away from the captain, and walk briskly out the archway.

"Hey man, it's okay! I come here sometimes. To think. It's fine really, I'm on good terms with the manager, you can stay if you want." Steve offered apologetically, shuffling his feet a bit.

But the soldier kept walking. The thing that happened next happened so quickly, he wasn't even sure he could have avoided it even if he wanted to. A stolen wallet slipped out of the pocket where he left hand rested, and fell to the floor. Steve was over in a flash, trying to be helpful, scooping up the wallet and reaching out to give it back.

"Oh, you dropped this-" Steve stopped and stared at the hand he was offered.

The soldier realized too late that he went to retrieve the wallet with his left hand.

"Buck?" Everything stopped for a moment as the soldier thought over his mistake.

_Too late now. Action; attack? attack. ATTACK. No._

Steve looked up into the soldier's eyes and saw a frozen face. Not a muscle moved as the soldier struggled to process a plan of action.

He ended up running. Running faster than he thought possible. Anything to get away from this confusing mess.

Steve jolted into action and gave chase, but after he turned down the second hallway, the soldier was nowhere to be seen. Not wasting any time, he pulled out his phone and called the first number he thought of.

"Hello? Tony? I saw him. Yeah. No, I really saw him this time. He was in the museum with me. Could you? Perfect. Thanks again."

Steve stood in in front of his friend's memorial for a long time. It was nearly five in the morning before he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go, two chapters in one day! Don't expect to get this too often though...


	3. Cue Doctor Banner

The room was small, but not too small. High ceilings and yellow-cream colored walls brought a cheery sort of feel to the place. Old wooden framed pictures adorned two of the walls, while the third was empty, and the fourth contained a large window covered in white flowing curtains. The carpet was plain and white, with a few stains here and there, and a small trail of flattened carpet wound its way around the room where Steve paced when he couldn't sleep. There were pillows and blankets haphazardly strewn next to the bed where he slept on the floor. A small nightstand made its home next to the empty bed under the window, and an old wooden dresser stood firmly on the opposite wall.

Steve sat crisscross on his bed, papers scattered all over, humming an old tune under his breath while he sifted through them. Manilla folders and white legal papers with redacted information piled up next to him. There were old black and white photographs, protected S.H.I.E.L.D. documents, and newer color pictures of the cryogenic freezers HYDRA kept Bucky in.

He was staring at one paper in particular that was mostly black lines, but there were a few words legible. He sighed after trying to read through it and tossed it off the side of his bed. Picking up a folder, he flipped through files until another caught his attention. He tried to pull it out when he was Interrupted by a knock at the door.

Startled, papers went flying out of his hands and all over the room. He relaxed again and took a deep breath.

"Who is it?" He questioned in a strangled voice.

"Its me," came the muffled reply as Doctor Banner stuck his head through the door.

"Ah, Doctor, wasn't expecting you this early," he replied smiling.

"Yeah, well I kinda though this was more important than what I was doing before. I heard what happened and took the first flight out."

"Where we're you, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Borneo. More info just came through on a gamma leak at one of my buddies old facilities, and I was called first. But, this definitely takes priority. Do you... want to know how he is?"

"Yeah," Steve perked up, "sure. Thanks again, for coming on such short notice."

"No problem, Steve. Alright well I should warn you, he's a bit worse for wear. You really did a number on his, uh, regular arm. I actually need your help if that's okay, you're the only person I can get right now to set his arm, and Tony's busy with... stuff. So if you want to, my car is outside." He pointed a thumb behind him and shrugged.

Despite wanting to see Bucky, Steve was a little conflicted about seeing him right now. He had waited for so long, but his friend didn't seem know him at all. He saw some recognition in his eyes, but not enough to know he wouldn't attack if given the opportunity.

"Time is of the essence, friend. I can't leave him with Tony for too long, or he might accidentally blow something up. Car's out front if you want to..." Bruce trailed off looking expectant.

"Yeah. Yeah, sorry. Let me grab a few things, and I'll meet you outside."

Banner nodded and his form retracted from the door frame. Steve threw some clothes in a bag, grabbed a few folders from his stacks, and pulled on a hoodie and some shoes. He ran outside and hopped in Bruce's red convertible. Well, it was technically Tony's, but they mostly shared cars now. Science buddies privilege. The car revved and they were off.

"You don't mind of I keep the top down, do you?" Bruce asked.

"No not at all, go ahead." Steve's gaze was somewhere else looking out over the cars and sidewalks.

"Hey, look I know it seems bad right now, but take it from a professional and a friend, he's going to be okay. Whatever happens, we can deal with it. Okay?" Bruce yelled over the constant roar of the wind.

"Thank you Bruce. I'm just... not sure I'll ever have Bucky back. The real Buck. He's so far gone." Steve frowned and looked down at his hands nervously fiddling his thumbs.

"Honestly? I don't think he'll ever be the same exact person he was. But give it some time, Steve. He might come around to something like his old self and remember. That's actually the first thing I want to do when he's stable. I think it would be worth it to look into what kind of technology HYDRA used to wipe him. If we can figure out how they did it, it might be possible to reverse it. That's my theory, anyway."

Steve stilled and looked thoughtful before nodding slowly. The rest of the ride to the tower was quiet, save for the wind whipping by and the sounds of the city. They pulled into a large underground garage, stocked with dozens of Stark's other cars, shut the doors firmly as they got out, and stepped into the elevator.

* * *

 

Up another twenty floors, there was a small drab bedroom. Well, as drab as a room in Avengers Tower could possibly be. There were no pictures or objects signifying any sort of inhabitant, only a cold steel desk with a bright lamp and a snugly furnished bed. The room was a dull slate gray color that reminded the Soldier of one of the many rooms he stayed in waiting for debriefings. Except, the lights were brighter. Much brighter. They shone in a way that contrasted the eery tones of the room.

The Soldier was lying face up on on the solid white and black sheets on the low bed. He had been trained to be completely still in covert missions where he was captured. He never broke under torture, or spilled any information. And if he was captured, the captors almost never made it out alive. He wasn't entirely sure that this counted as a hostage situation, mainly because he was being given so much freedom. Maybe they all worked for HYDRA.

He could have escaped any time he wished, went back into the big world, and ditched the people keeping him here, but he didn't. He didn't break out of the room, sneak down the emergency exit flight of stairs, and escape the building. He didn't wander the streets looking for urban areas to hide in and scavenge for food and clothes in dumpsters. He didn't, even though he wanted to. Because of the man. Steve Rodgers. He was here. He found him.

Why did he find him? He knew he shouldn't leave the man. But he didn't know why. Just like he didn't know why he saved him from drowning.

He attempted to shift in the bed, but was stopped by a stabbing pain in his arm. Where had the man gone? The man with glasses. He briefly remembered the man saying something about going to get help. Help from who? Was he going back to his supervisors? When were they going to wipe him? Why wouldn't they just get it over with? Why leave him to wait in pain for what he already knew was coming?

They almost always cared fro his wounds first. He knew that. Then they would strap him to the chair. He hated the chair. He never remembered it at first, because they wiped his memory of even the chair. But some things were so common that he couldn't forget. Like the training, the beatings, the commands, and most of all, the chair. The more he remembered the chair, the more he despised it. It was like a constant nagging in his head telling him to make a break for it. But it was also a reminder of what would happen if he did run away or disobey orders.

Yes, he remembered the chair, but not exactly what it did or why he should fear it; that was mostly intuition. He only remembered what it did as soon as he was strapped in, but by then it was too late.

The last thing he remembered was from a few weeks ago. They had just wiped him. He woke up to intense pain and an ache in his head. He was given his usual suit to wear and his mask and was given supplements and chemicals intravenously. They told him that he had to wear the mask at all times. They said the target can't see his face, or take it off. Said it would distract from the mission.

He was told to eliminate his target at all costs, and keep the hellecarriers in the air. He didn't listen. He took his mask off before he even left the compound. As hard as they tried to make him a purely instinct driven fighter, they could never take away his sharp wit. It's what kept him the ultimate killing machine for so long. He wasn't stupid. He knew why these past missions were so public. He was never sent out in the open to that kind of dirty work. It was always covert and silent, not running down the interstate with an assault rifle and blowing up cars. They did it on purpose. They never intended for him to survive. His mission was to kill the target, then return to base, and be neutralized. He was old equipment anyway. They couldn't risk it with the more frequent memory lapses. He was only to complete one last mission, then they would put him down.

But things didn't go the way they planned. He saved the target, then he ran away. And he stayed hidden until this new group chased him down. He remembered very clearly what happened.

* * *

 

 

_He woke up in the back of a very dingy old van. The floor was carpeted and very shabby. The insides were peeling off white white paint, probably like the outside of the van. His feet and hands were tied together with some sort of metal looking rope. There two rows of seats on either side of him, and two people sitting on both sides._

_They were the same people who had fought with him right before he was electrocuted. There was a man in the driver's seat, singing along to a rock song he couldn't identify. He was the one in the metal suit, then. On his right he recognized Natalia Romanova, she was sitting very still with her eyes closed and her hands resting beside her on the seat. She wasn't asleep though, he knew she was very alert and waiting for any indication of a fight. On his left, here was the target himself. He sharply inhaled at the surprise of seeing him. He didn't remember much about the earlier fight, except he was very tired and very sloppy with his fighting style._

_He had been stumbling through the woods for a couple days trying to find a small town or gas station, but instead found a group of people in the woods, armed, and decided they were either S.H.I.E.L.D. or HYDRA, and attacked. He didn't pay attention to their faces._

_The target looked down at him, and something akin to rage boiled in him. He should be attacking, he should finish his mission. But Captain Rogers looked so... so sad. It jerked something else inside of him this time, something he didn't know how to describe. They ended up staring at each other until he blacked out again, which wasn't long._

* * *

 

He was pulled from the memory by the sound of a door opening. He refused to look anywhere but a little spot he found on the ceiling, not wanting to deal with looking. Looking meant contact. Contact meant you had to talk. He didn't want to talk, maybe not ever again.

He felt someone touch his injured arm. They asked if he could sit up, and he did. It took a little more strength than he thought it should, but he eventually was upright, now staring at the door handle.

"Alright, that's really good. We're going to set your arm now, and I have Steve here so you don't break something if you lash out. It's going to hurt a bit, okay?"

He didn't respond, his gaze drifting in and out of lucidness. He felt a set of hands holding him in place, and another lightly touching his right arm.

"...Alright I'm going to count to three, and set it. One... two-" crack.

* * *

 

The ride up the elevator was agonizing. Every bone in Steve's body ached to get out and sprint up the nearest stairwell to his friend, but he forced himself to stand calmly in the elevator with Bruce and talk medical things.

Bruce explained that Bucky had several fractured ribs, a bruised collar bone, and a dislocated shoulder. He also had many various scrapes and cuts, mostly from his adventures in the wilderness, but Steve was too lost in the thought that he had caused all the serious injuries his friend now had. It made him sick to his stomach to think about. But he had to remind himself that this was also an exiting time, his friend was back, and he was really truly here. Regardless of willingness to communicate, he was still there, up only a few more floors now, living, breathing, there.

He isn't prepared for what he sees. Bucky is there, yes, but there's a distant look in his eyes slightly glazed over, and Steve doesn't know if he's ready for this after all. But he sucks in a breath and enters the doorway anyways.

Bucky is laying on his back in a new pair of blue sweatpants, without of shirt. His hair is a little damp and pulled back into a pony tail with a few stray strands untouched themselves from the hair band. Steve takes long purposeful strides to the bed to assess the damage for himself.

_Bruising. A lot of bruising, wow I didn't think I hit him that hard...his arm looks pretty bad. I did quite a number on him._

Steve gently touched all the bad areas, and felt the broken ribs, dislocated shoulder, saw the bruising around the collar bone.

"Hey there um, what do I call him?" Bruce wondered out loud.

"No idea. I'm not even sure if he'll respond to anything right now." Steve replied in a dejected voice.

"Well lets see," Banner cleared his throat and stepped up to the bed, "Um, Sergeant Barnes, do you think you could sit up for us?"

Bucky immediately started to rise, but couldn't quite make it all the way up, and both Steve and Bruce rushed over to help him the rest of the way. Steve felt the metal arm underneath his hands and almost recoiled at how warm it was.

He didn't pay much attention to it while he was fighting, except to avoid it, but now his eyes were glued to the shiny surface. Steve pulled his hands away after the Soldier was all of the way up, and watched as the man's gaze almost seamlessly focused to another point on the wall behind them. It bothered Steve that his friend was so lucid and non-violent, but he supposed it was for the best.

"Okay, that's really good. We're going to set your arm now, and I have Steve here so you don't break something if you lash out. It's going to hurt a bit, okay?"

There was still no response as Bruce nodded to Steve and they took their places next to Bucky. Steve once again held his friend's metal arm, and felt it frighteningly warm to the touch, but he held on anyway.

"Alright. I'm going to count to three, and set it." Bruce nodded at Steve. "One...two-" crack.

Steve braced himself, waiting for Bucky to swing a punch or try to fight his way out, but nothing happened. He just sat on the bed with a now in place shoulder staring vacantly at the wall. It was a little shocking, Steve thought, that he didn't move during something that painful.

Bruce stared at the soldier for a while, then sighed, "He's been like this the entire time. The only reaction we got out of him so far was Tony. Just about strangled him to death. Guess it goes to show that Stark's still the most annoying one. Heh. I think maybe-maybe it would be best of we keep him here for a while though... right now this is the most protected area in the city, and probably in the entire country. Stark said its fine, just as long as he doesn't break anything. Oh, and would you mind grabbing that for me?"

He pointed to a roll of white gauze sitting on the bedside table. Steve passed it to him.

"Yeah. Do you think Tony would mind if I stayed here for a while? Just until things blow over, I don't want to overstay my welcome. And... I don't want to leave him here by himself."

Steve pointed to his friend.

"I want to be here if...if-"

"Yeah. I understand. I don't think he'd mind if you stay, but I'm not the person to ask. I don't wanna say yes and be wrong. But I'll put in a good word to Potts for you. Ultimately, she has the say."

He started to unwind the gauze from its spool and cut off strips and lay them out on the bed.

"Thanks again, Dr. Banner, for everything. You didn't have to come out here and do all this, but I'm happy you did, or I don't know where we'd be right now."

"Hey, no need to thank me, I'm always here for the team, you know that. Besides, I had to get the chance to see this guy for myself; everyone's been talking about him."

"Mm. I figured. Word gets around fast here."

Steve was a little worried how the rest of the team would handle having Bucky here. It was hard enough with two master assassins, he didn't know what would happen having a third, amnesiac one hanging around.

While Bruce was busy cutting away, Steve sat down next to Bucky on the bed. He wanted a better look at the cybernetic arm, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to touch it. A hesitant hand reached out and lightly brushed the thick interlocking plates of the arm. It was still warm, and he could hear a small humming or whirring sound emanating from deep inside it.

"I don't know if you're listening right now, Buck, but I want you to know that you're in good hands now. I'm glad you're back."

Steve searched his friend's face, looking for any sign of comprehension, and after finding none, sighed and went back to helping treat and dress his wounds with Bruce. Bucky fell asleep after that.

They finished half an hour later, and Bruce went to his room across the hallway, and said to call him if anything happens. Pepper came in the room a while later, and said that she had already set up a room for him to stay in, and that he was welcome anytime he wants.

He must have sat for hours on the bed watching the rise and fall of his friend's chest as he slept, but he had to get up eventually. So he took a shower. Walking back out with a fresh shirt and sweats on, he felt a little better, and less like his own thoughts were waging a mini war in his head.

He went across the hall to a closet, and found some blankets and pillows in it. He lay them out carefully on the floor beside the bed, and lowered himself down on them. It was almost eleven at night, and it had been a long couple of days without sleep, so he was out almost as soon as his head hit the pillows.

* * *

 

 

When the soldier heard the breathing from the man on the floor even out, his eyes opened again. He briefly wondered if it was possible for him to forget how to sleep. Like for forgetting how to speak, or how to look someone in the eye. His thoughts were slowly turning from a blurry mess into confusing memories, and he wanted nothing more than to fall asleep, even if he couldn't remember how. He didn't remember how he fell asleep, only that he woke up a few hours later to terrifying images of death and violence. He didn't try to sleep again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long update! Finals are kicking my sweet little butt, and they're going to continue doing so for a while. Thanks you guys for your feedback, much appreciated! Up Next: A slightly soupy plotline gets a little beef bouillon!

**Author's Note:**

> I will try to update every week, but I'm horrible with things, especially during finals gah


End file.
